Aftermath
by Iceworm
Summary: Stiles acts on the "friendly" advice offered by Derek.
1. Chapter 1

Aftermath: Part I

Thunk. "Damn!

Thunk. "Fuck!"

Thunk. "Shit!"

His foot poised in mid-swing, Stiles slowly lowered it to the ground. It was, he now realized, impossible to vent one's anger satisfactorily when kicking a plastic garbage can. The dull, emotionless thunk produced by applying sneaker to plastic completely defeated the purpose of the action. Not even assaulting a can as big as the one he wheeled out to the curb every Wednesday could do it for him. How was he supposed to get rid of his anger when the recipient of his anger not only wouldn't dent but wouldn't even scratch despite his best efforts. "Arghhh!"

Having purged some of the anger from his system, Stiles hastily scanned the backyards of his neighbors. He fervently hoped that no one had witnessed his assault on the Stilenski family trash receptacle. Odd he lived with every day of his life; weird was just more than he could deal with today.

Stiles picked up the wastebasket he'd brought down from his room - the one HE said needed to be cleaned. He'd dropped it when the urge to damage something - anything – had overwhelmed him. He checked that he had actually remembered to empty it. A single, stubborn tissue clung to the bottom. Stiles reached in, plucked it out between two fingers and deposited it in the garbage can. He slammed the lid with a flourish but succeeded in producing only another unsatisfactory, dispiriting thunk for his effort.

The boy sighed as he walked across the yard to his house. He carried the wastebasket into the house and on into the laundry. Dropping it in the laundry tub, he turned on the hot water. While the water warmed, he pulled down a bottle of bleach from the shelf, splashed a generous portion into the bottom of the basket, and then filled it with steaming water.

Kill all odors! Stiles rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a sponge and swished the bleach solution around. He dumped the dirty water into the tub and reached for the spray nozzle to rinse out the dirt his efforts had dislodged. He watched the soapy water swirl out of the wastebasket and down the drain. Setting it upside down in the tub, he left it to dry.

The washing machine was still running behind him. He'd tossed in his sheets and set it to the hottest wash cycle available. He seemed to recall something about cotton shrinking in hot water but figured what the hell. The sheets might not fit his bed anymore but he dared tall, dark, and… The censor riding herd on his conscious mind balked at accepting any of the adjectives that bubbled up out of his subconscious. Finally, with a grimace at its lameness, he finished the thought: tall, dark and scary to say there was any trace of anything but soap smell in his bed. He kicked the comforter out of his way. It would be going in next although he thought, just to be on the safe side, he wouldn't use steam sanitize on it.

Stiles slowly pivoted around considering the cleaning supplies available to him in the laundry room. Maybe if he ever actually cleaned his room he'd have a better idea of what to use. The agreement he had with the Sheriff called for him to maintain his room in a state that kept it off the EPA's toxic site list. In exchange for this promise, their housekeeper would, like the angel of death, pass his room by. In practice this meant that he shoveled the debris out of his room twice a month and vacuumed once a quarter.

Stiles and his Dad had reached this understanding the year he turned thirteen. Since then, the elder Stilinski hadn't been in his son's room except by invitation or his confinement for illness. Stiles was confident that his Dad would never notice the changes he intended to make to his room.

He decided to proceed as though his room was a crime scene that needed to be sterilized. If Derek was correct about Scott's developing wolfy senses, there might be, he realized, residual odors on almost every surface in his room. He had wood surfaces, so he'd need furniture polish; he had a cleaner for his computer and its components upstairs already; and there was his window, which would require glass cleaner.

But then there was the floor. He didn't have wall-to-wall carpeting so he had a two-part problem. He could vacuum the small area rug; but remembering Derek's unnerving performance in his room, he doubted that would be enough. Shampooing seemed like overkill for so small an area so he pulled down from a shelf the carpet freshener left over from the unhappy puppy experiment. As for the rest of the floor, he would have to mop it, he guessed. He tossed the furniture polish, window cleaner, carpet freshener, and a bottle of bleach based cleanser for the floor into the mop bucket. Between the lemon scented furniture polish, the ammonia in the glass cleaner, the cloying, floral scented carpet freshener and the smell of chlorine from the floor cleaner he doubted that even Derek could identify any remaining odors that might linger in his room.

With a mop in one hand and the mop bucket in the other he went forth to vanquish the pitiful remnants of his male, adolescent fantasies. All because that damn werewolf came into his room, scared the piss out of him and left him dazed and confused. About one thing he wasn't confused, Stiles knew that what Derek had implied was not true. He knew that!

He was comfortable with the team he played for. What he'd felt yesterday was fear. As he'd told Derek, fear wasn't an aphrodisiac for him. Maybe, just maybe, there had been something going on below the waist when Derek was breathing on his neck like a fucking furnace but he was a teenage boy. Pencil sharpeners did it for him.

Stiles stopped in front of his bedroom door. The cleaning supplies and the vacuum cleaner he'd picked up on a separate trip downstairs were arrayed in front of him. He stepped into his room and slipped off the earbuds for his iPod. He slipped it into its dock next to his computer. Turning it on, he set the volume control as high as he could stand. Mindless work required mindless music with lots of bass.


	2. Chapter 2

Aftermath: Part 2

Scott let himself into the Stilinski house using the key taped to the bottom of the porch swing. He'd done it a hundred times before. Stiles was home alone - again. The music blasting from the second floor and the absence of the Sheriff's car from the driveway proved that. With Sheriff Stilinski at work it had been pointless to ring the bell or knock. That's why Scott knew where the spare key was hidden.

"Stiles, it's Scott!" he yelled as he climbed the stairs. The music continued to blast at the same, excruciating level. He hadn't expected Stiles to hear him. Announcing yourself was the kind of polite thing his mom would have wanted him to do. That her sixteen-year-old had actually recalled, let alone acted upon, one of her admonitions would have astounded her. In this situation Scott could appreciate its logic: guys needed to give other guys some privacy. You never knew if someone was getting lucky. Scott smiled at the picture this conjured up.

Stiles, he knew, was only interested in Lydia. Lydia was only interested in Lydia and, coming a distant second in her affections, Jackson. Everyone in school knew that Jackson had dumped her. Lydia was not the type, however, who could ever accept being the dumpee. She could only be the dumper. This meant that she had to win back Jackson's interest.

Scott didn't see how his best friend could win. He had experienced Lydia's powers of persuasion and was positive that she could get her claws back into Jackson if she applied herself. If the poor s.o.b ever fell for her line, Scott could predict with absolute certainty that Jackson would be sent packing in a manner that would be both highly humiliating and as public as Lydia could arrange.

As one predator to another, he wished her good hunting. Jackson falling back under Lydia's spell would free up Allison. It might give him the opportunity with her that he needed. Scott considered how he could handle things differently. It wouldn't include telling her the truth but maybe he could come up with enough half-truths to keep her satisfied. If she ever discovered the truth…that would be the end.

Stiles had told him repeatedly, as had Derek, that being involved with the daughter of a family of werewolf hunters was insane. But neither of them understood. Romeo had been his age and he'd had a great love. With Stiles' sarcastic voice echoing in his head, 'Did you even read the end of the play?' Scott reached the second floor and approached his best friend's room.

He knocked loudly. The volume of the music didn't change. Scott turned the knob and pushed open the door.

"Wow!" He stopped amazed.

His, wow, apparently penetrated the decibels. Stiles turned down the music and swiveled around in his chair to face Scott. "Hey, Scott. Didn't hear you."

"I repeat 'wow'. What did you do?" Scott scanned the room from a spot just inside the doorway. "How did you get in this much trouble in twenty-four hours? You've been keeping secrets from me," he accused.

The transformation was incredible. The room was no longer that of a sixteen-year-old boy. It was clean, picked up, and in order. A cloud of odors suddenly erupted out of the door driven by the hot air coming into the room from the furnace in the basement. It swept over Scott like a tsunami.

The odor of chlorine, ammonia, ersatz lemon, the scents of flowers that bloom only in the chemist's test-tube and chemical blends he couldn't identify all assaulted his nose. He sneezed violently. He sneezed again, followed by two more in quick succession. Scott backed hastily out of the doorway and away from the miasma of odors swirling in his friend's room.

"Stiles, for God's sake, are you trying to kill me? Open the window!" He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and then dug for a Kleenex in his pocket. He took shallow breaths trying to breathe in as little of the witch's brew that assaulted his nose as possible.

"But it's…" Stiles began a protest but Scott started to sneeze again.

"Right! Stay out there while I air out the room." Stiles hurried to his window and opened it as wide as it would go. He shivered in the cold blast coming in from outside. "I just finished a little while ago so I guess the odors are still a little strong."

Scott nodded vigorously in agreement from his refuge in the hall. He waited a full five minutes after the last sneezing attack before approaching the door again. Scott cautiously sniffed the air. "That was weird. I've never had that kind of reaction before, not even before the bite, when I still had asthma. I thought I was going to need my inhaler."

"It's your sense of smell. It's been enhanced by the transformation. Smell is the wolf's primary sense and you're just becoming more sensitized to the world around you," Stiles explained. "Derek said this would happen."

Scott gave his friend a puzzled look. "When? Did I miss that meeting?"

Stiles paused, flustered and looked around the room as though searching for help. "I'm sure that he said, or – no, maybe it was something I read on the Internet. Anyway, it seems true. You better stay away from cosmetic counters, dude. They could do you in."

Scott laughed. "That means I can't take Mr. Harrison for Algebra next year. I think he bathes in cologne." Stiles joined in his laughter.

"Okay, seriously, Stiles, what did you do? Hack the high school's computer again and change your grades?" Scott asked. "Or did you go for the big time and access the FBI database using your dad's ID? This has to be either the worst punishment ever or a preemptive strike on your part to wheedle something really big out of your dad. Which is it, man?" Scott walked cautiously to Stiles' bed and sat down on the edge. He made a production of removing his shoes before stretching out on the bed. "Fabric softener?" He turned his head to the side so he could get a better smell of the pillowcase. "You're into fabric softener?" Scott shook his head. "Maybe having Danny for a lab partner is rubbing off on you." He gave Stiles a raised eyebrow.

"I use laundry sheets to remove static electricity." Stiles said primly. "Dad buys the laundry products. If they're scented he picked them out. Okay?"

"So this is what was so important that you left me marooned at school? I get out of the shower after practice and you are gone. No one knows where Stiles went. Do you remember you said you'd give me a ride home? Now that Allison isn't around to give me lifts, it's either you or my bike."

Stiles smacked his forehead. "Yeah, sorry I stood you up. I'd been thinking about needing to clean my room all day and I just left after practice to get started. It couldn't wait." He ignored the incredulous look Scott sent his way. "And, no, I'm not in any trouble that I know about." Stiles looked thoughtful. "Unless you count dad's experience at the Parent/Teacher conference."

"Whatever his experience was it couldn't have matched my mom's. Remember, she busted me for cutting school with Allison?" Scott crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back against the headboard. His face registered amazement as his eyes roamed around the room before stopping. "A new poster. Did you have something there before?"

Stiles slowly rotated in his chair to face the wall in question. He got to his feet and walked over to the poster. "No, just an empty wall." He ran his fingertips lightly across it. "I had the poster and thought the plot of _The Lost Boys_ was analogous to our situation. So, I put it up."

"Huh?"

"You've seen the movie. I know you have. I made you watch it with me."

"I know what the movie is about. How is it analogous to the shit we're in?" Scott rolled onto his side and rested his head on his fist. "It's about vampires."

Stiles sighed loudly. "I said it was analogous to our situation. I didn't say it was identical." Stiles went back to his desk and sat down straddling his chair. "You remember the plot?" He squinted at Scott suspiciously

"Yeah, like I said, it's a vampire movie." At the look of scorn this answer received he sighed and tried again. "Two brothers…"

Stiles interrupted him, "Like us." He pointed to Scott and then at himself. "We're like brothers. You're the…"

It was Scott's turn to interrupt. "…older brother, by 37 days."

"…And I'm the younger, smarter, better-looking brother," Stiles finished.

Scott scowled at Stiles. "…and their mother move to this creepy, California beach town." He watched the bare branches of the tree outside the window blowing in the cold, winter wind and shivered. The room was warming up now that Stiles had closed the window. "The older, cooler brother meets a chick who is really into him and he gets tangled up with vamps. Not seeing the analogy yet, man."

"That's because you're leaving stuff out including the young, tall, dark and fangy leader of the vampires. He'd be Derek's counterpart." At Scott's expression he stopped. "What?"

"Tall, dark and fangy?"

Stiles flushed. "I had considered scary, but that's just lame so I went with fangy. I… read it in a book but it fits, right?" He took Scott's silence as permission to continue and hurried on. "Who wants to turn the older brother and keeps trying to kill the younger brother. Also, like Derek."

"He hasn't actually tried to kill you, yet." Scott corrected. His attempt at fairness earned him a frown.

"The young vamp, he's the _24 Hours_ guy, right? Back when he was young?" Scott shook his head. "Remind me why I let you talk me into watching a gay movie!"

"What's gay about it?" Stiles sputtered.

"Guys sniffing and sucking each other's necks. That's what's gay."

His eyes wide, Stiles glanced nervously at the wall where the poster hung. "There's no…" he started before pausing and starting again more calmly, "There is no sniffing or neck sucking. _24 Hours_ guy used the blood of the head vampire to start the process of changing the older brother. Definitely no sniffing or biting exchanged between guys!"

"And, how were you changed?" Stiles didn't wait for Scott but answered his own question, "The Alpha, not Derek, bit you? Another similarity. And, tell me how Derek says you can be cured?"

Scott scrunched up his face. "He said if I killed the person who made me a werewolf, he thought that would cure me. But no guarantees, of course."

"It's also the same as in the movie." Stiles said triumphantly. He went on enthusiastically. "And then there's the mother…" Scott's head came up at this.

"The head vampire wanted the boys' mother." Stiles hurried on. "But he didn't get her, remember? In the end the mother was safe; the young and old vampires were dust; the two brothers were safe; and the older brother got his girl." Stiles rubbed his hand across his head. "Of course the younger brother got nothing out of it other than not getting killed." Stiles watched Scott's head sink back onto his pillow.

"Stiles."

The boy raised his head from its resting-place on his arms. "Yeah?"

"It that it?"

"Is what it?"

"The best we can hope for - not dying."

"Yeah, I think so."

"I don't know if I could stand never being with Allison again."

Stiles stared at his friend speechless.


	3. Chapter 3

Aftermath: Part 3

Scott flopped back against the pillows, oblivious to the effect his words had on his friend. "I've got to get her back, Stiles! But how? She told me she doesn't trust me. And why should she? I haven't told her the truth about anything since I met her."

"Now that you know her parents are werewolf hunters, Scott, I think you can safely assume that sharing, honesty, and openness are not the way to go with this girl. Ignorance is bliss when it comes to girls." Stiles smiled at his friend. "You won't catch me going the honesty route with Lydia. No sirree. The less she knows about me the more likely it is that she'll go on a date with me."

"My advice – lie! If you want this girl, which is such a bad idea that I can't even enumerate all the ways it's bad, then lie your ass off." Stiles held up his hands. "No! I take that back. It's not just a bad idea, it's a lethal, life threatening, and terminally fatal one for you to pursue." Stiles stared at the vacant, smiling, unfocused look on his friend's face and despaired. Scott hadn't heard anything he had said.

Stiles zoned out as Scott went over for the ten thousandth time his relationship problems with Allison. As his mind drifted, lulled by the monotonous tones of Scott's voice, he realized with surprise that he hoped that the analogy he'd drawn between the movie and their real life situation wasn't too exact. He didn't want Derek dead. His mind skittered around like a drop of water in a hot skillet, refusing to come to grips with the truth behind this reality. He really, really, really wanted a reason that didn't require admitting he felt anything for the wolf.

"_***we're meant to be together***" _

With relief he finally fastened on their undeniable need for the strength and experience of the Beta in the coming battle with the Alpha. If Stiles thinking he could hold Derek off was laughable, the idea of Scott and Stiles going up alone against the Alpha was hysterical. That was reason enough for Stiles not to want Derek dusted as the young vampire leader in **The Lost Boys** had been. It could be viewed as a simple matter of life or death.

"_***my soul mate***"_

The boy rested his chin on the back of the chair. Maybe he should just man up and try to deal with yesterday. He swiveled restlessly back and forth in his chair. Derek claimed that he had the hots for the werewolf. The chair stopped. No, that hadn't actually been what he'd said. Derek had said that he could tell that he, Stiles Stilinski, was aroused whenever Derek and Scott were in the room with him.

"_***don't know what we want***"_

A jolt went through him. Maybe he meant that Stiles was turned on by the thought of Derek and Scott together. He examined that concept gingerly and put it quickly away in the same place that he kept the idea of his mom and dad having sex. He shivered and then returned to the only slightly less repulsive idea that Scott turned him on.

"_***our undying love***"_

Stiles knew beyond question that Scott didn't turn him on. Scott was, as he'd told him earlier, like a brother to him. It would be totally gross if he felt that way about his brother. If anyone stoked his fire it would have to be Derek, assuming Derek was telling the truth about what his nose told him.

"***they won't listen***"

Could he believe anything Derek said? Derek hadn't told him, after all, what the result of his sniff test had been. This could be some sort of mind game that Derek was playing with him. It might even be that Derek was the one with the hots for a certain high school boy of his acquaintance. This could all be only a case of transference. Stiles found that a mind boggling idea. Derek had never indicated that he even liked him. Stiles thought that not ripping his face off probably did not count as a sign of Derek's affection.

"***say we're too young***"

Stiles searched his memory of their brief history together. Had there been any instance when Derek had shown anything other than contempt or, on one of Stiles' good days, a bored indifference to his existence? Derek had been willing to let him take a knife to his arm when he'd been shot with wolfsbane. That had indicated either a trust in Stiles that was surprising or the sheerest desperation. Who knew? With someone like Derek, digging a bullet out of your massively infected arm with a pocket knife might have passed as a first date. Too bad he hadn't shown himself to be up to the challenge. Wimping out in a life or death situation couldn't have won him any friendship points with the werewolf.

"_***my heart's desire***_"

The only other thing that Stiles could think of was the warning that Derek had given him at the hospital when he'd been about to meet the Alpha. There had been urgency and a note of panic in his voice that night. That might have been an indication of more than casual concern or, then again, it might not have been. Maybe he was only concerned about losing his ride back to town if the Alpha ate his driver. How could one tell?

"_***no one understands***"_

A change in Scott's voice penetrated Stile's consciousness. He raised his head to check on his friend and cursed his luck. Scott was staring at him expectantly. He must have asked a question and was awaiting an answer. He tried to remember if he'd heard anything Scott had said. Nothing came to him. He'd have to wing it.

"Scott I can't tell you what to do. I have certainly tried and it hasn't made any difference. You're the only one who can make that decision. And you know, Scott, in the end you'll just do what you want to no matter what I say." Looking at Scott's happy face, Stiles knew with total surety that his best friend was going to keep seeing Allison until the end. He just hoped it wasn't Scott's end.

"Well, you know, Stiles, Allison isn't like other girls. I know she really loves me but with her family against me. I just don't know. If…"

Scott was off again and Stiles tuned him out once again. He had more important things, his things, to deal with. Last night Derek had claimed he felt nothing for Stiles other than curiosity. He hadn't touched Stiles. In fact, the touching had gone the other way. He had touched Derek. But only, he reassured himself, because the wolf was intruding on his personal space. He was trying to hold him off. This was a joke, of course. He couldn't have held Derek off – not with one hand, two hands, or fifty hands. He flinched at the memory of his limp-wristed performance. He hadn't stood a chance of deterring a determined werewolf. That meant that Derek hadn't wanted to touch him. This was kind of disappointing if he let himself think about it. Lydia didn't know he was alive and Danny thought he was deranged. Sheriff Stilinski's son couldn't get a rise out of even a horny werewolf.

All Derek had done was breathe on him – not exactly an act of passion. Even when he had Stiles backed up against the wall he hadn't done or said anything overtly sexual. Stiles allowed himself to remember the heat he'd felt radiating from Derek's chest and the beat of his heart as his hand pressed against the man's chest. He found himself suddenly in need of changing position in his chair.

He wished now that he'd kept his damn eyes open. Staring into the twin furnaces of blue fire that were Derek's eyes, that wouldn't have been hard. Sure. Who was he kidding? He'd have been lucky not to pee his pants if he'd dared do it. It would have answered his questions though. He wouldn't have needed words. His eyes would have told him if Derek Hale wanted him.

Stiles stopped his swiveling and found he was facing **The Lost Boys** poster. A smile smoothed some of the tension from his face. He thought about the real reason why the poster had gone up. It hadn't been the analogy to their situation, as neat as that had been, but rather the need to hide the holes made by Derek's claws in his wall. Something had cracked the man's control, had allowed the wolf inside him to surface. That something could have been desire. Desire for Stiles!

Slowly the smile faded. Or there was another possibility, one less flattering to his ego and more dangerous to his wellbeing. Derek _had_ gotten a positive response from his little smell-o-meter act and his claws had extended in disgust. The wolf might be a homophobe. Stiles grimaced. He'd just self-identified as queer. How, he wondered, had he gone from being straight Stiles, hopelessly in love with Lydia, to gay Stiles, hopelessly crushing on a wolf?

Stiles rested his head on his arms. What was he going to do? Or rather, he knew what he was going to do. He just didn't know how he was going to go about it.

He wondered what Red Riding Hood's secret was?


End file.
